


Bed and Breakfast

by alouette_des_champs



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Between 116 and 118, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Haunted B&B Energy, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Stone Butch Daisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alouette_des_champs/pseuds/alouette_des_champs
Summary: What happens in the creepy B&B at the end of the world stays in the creepy B&B at the end of the world...unless maybe it doesn't.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Bed and Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> In ep 116, there was a line where Elias said that he had made a reservation for Daisy, Basira, and Jon at a B&B. This immediately struck me as the funniest place possible to spend the night before you stop a grim and unknowable apocalypse, probably because the only image I have in my head of a B&B looks like a kitschy grandma house with a lot of doilies and weird crocheted toilet paper covers. Et voilà. I wrote that, but porn.
> 
> Sex music that I feel existentially threatened by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mhgfXgwdls

Daisy woke from her familiar nightmares with her face mere inches away from a tacky embroidered throw pillow. _COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS_ it said in florid cursive, accompanied by the image of two hands clasped together in prayer. Even after all she had seen, she was not a superstitious woman, but this seemed very much like a bad omen, a warning from some grim beyond.

When she rolled over, she was met with a much more agreeable sight. Basira was sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning her shirt over her beige, no-nonsense bra, a faraway look in her eyes.

Bouchard had only booked rooms at the bed and breakfast for three, no doubt trying to further dissuade Jon from bringing Tim along, but all it had accomplished in the end was force Daisy and Basira to share. Jon and Tim could barely spend five minutes in one other’s company, let alone a whole night; neither man would have lived to see daylight. It didn’t bother Daisy, anyway. She and Basira had shared a hotel room plenty of times before.

They’d split the bed right down the middle. Daisy slept on her back like a soldier, ready to snap to attention at any disturbance, however slight. She jerked awake every time Basira brushed up against her, toes against her shin or a hand against her shoulder, instinctively reaching for her gun. It had been a long, fragmented night, but she wasn’t complaining. It was better to have Basira near, where Daisy knew she was safe, even if she _was_ a sleep kicker and, frankly, a blanket thief. 

Daisy had always thought that having a partner was the closest she’d ever get to being married. Someone you talked to every day whether you wanted to or not, someone who nagged you about your bad habits, someone who knew all your idiosyncrasies and the way you took your coffee. An obligation. An accessory. A keeper of mundane secrets. Now, she thought that marriage seemed like a pale and bloodless thing in comparison to the partnership she had with Basira.

She knew, in some sense, that she loved her—whatever that meant—but she had not expected to miss her so acutely. She could visit her whenever she wanted to at her new post, sequestered in the Archives, but that was cold comfort. There was something about sitting in the car alone, staking out doomed monsters, that made Daisy feel raw all over. Proximity mattered. Time mattered. She had grown accustomed to having a lot of both; she had taken it for granted.

“Up and at ‘em,” Basira said brusquely when she noticed that she was awake, smiling joylessly. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

Daisy threw her legs over the side of the bed and just sat there for a moment. The room they had been given was almost surreal in its absurdity, even more so in the light of day. The wallpaper was a doleful mauve floral print that reminded her of a funeral home. Every surface of the old oaken furniture was draped with at least one doily; knickknacks crowded in on top of them, little porcelain figures and decorative teapots, framed Bible verses. The bed was adorned with a frilly, childish canopy. There was a wingback chair in the corner that seemed to have been put there for the express purpose of displaying more kitschy throw pillows and one intensely creepy porcelain doll in a velvet gown, its dead, black eyes trained right on her. There was probably a statement about the damn thing in the Archives somewhere, scooping out the eyeballs of children, maybe nurturing some terrible, beating brain behind the rosy porcelain of its face…

“You think he’s messing with us?” Daisy asked.

“What?”

“Bouchard. With all this…” She picked up the pillow and tossed it to Basira to illustrate her point. “He’s got to be messing with us.”

“Maybe.” Basira caught the pillow and looked at it with mild distaste. “Maybe B&Bs are just…like this.”

“Not sure which I like less.”

It felt stupid to brush her teeth and run a comb through her hair, teetering on the precipice of an unimaginable apocalypse as they were, but she did it anyway. She got dressed, strapped on her holsters, checked her backup clips. Basira watched her move around the room from her perch on the edge of the bed. To anyone else, she would have appeared unbothered, coolly resolute, but Daisy saw the anxiety in the way that her eyes flicked from point to point, from Daisy to the door to her phone and back again.

“We’ll be alright,” she said gruffly, catching the other woman’s eye.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Well, if I thought we were fucked, I wouldn’t be here, would I? Wouldn’t waste the bullets.”

Basira huffed a laugh. “I don’t know why I find that comforting, but I do.”

This was a woman she had killed for, a woman she would die for, but Daisy was still so hesitant to touch her. It wasn’t that she thought of Basira as delicate—that would have been laughable. It was that she thought of herself as indescribably violent. There was blood on her hands, under her fingernails, in the swirls of her fingerprints themselves. She had made herself into a weapon, and though she took a certain pride in her purpose, the fact was that most people could never feel comfortable with a weapon pressed against their skin.

Basira wasn’t most people. She stood up in one swift, sure motion and grabbed a fistful of Daisy’s shirt, yanking her forward. Teeth clashed in the suddenness and desperation of the kiss, but in the next moment, their mouths fell deliciously into place. Every point where their bodies met felt fused as if by a rogue electrical current. There was no letting go. There were no more choices.

Daisy wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist and spun her, pressing her up against the wall. She bumped the nightstand with her knee and set one of the decorative teapots wobbling; the porcelain shattered against wooden floorboards with a satisfying drama. _Good._ If the world didn’t end, The Magnus Institute would owe this nauseating place a new set of knickknacks.

Basira fumbled with the buckle on her shoulder holster and managed to get it unfastened without breaking the kiss. Daisy shrugged it off and lowered it to the ground, kicking it out of the way. The belt that held her trusty 9mm at her hip stayed on. She wouldn’t be able to relax without it.

“Feels like I should frisk you properly before we go any further,” Basira teased breathlessly. “Make sure you haven’t got any other weapons hidden on you.”

“You can try.” Daisy kissed her again before she could respond, sliding her fingers into all that dark, silky hair. She pulled against Basira’s scalp until she shivered, then kept pulling until she knew it would hurt. She wanted to bury her face in her hair and stay there, keep a lock of it in her pocket for when she felt the loneliest. Daisy found the soft, secret patch of skin just beneath the other woman’s ear and tested it with her lips before she dug in with her teeth. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, what sound she’d imagined Basira would make when she bit her, but she wasn’t prepared for the sigh that left her mouth. It was low and lush like the hum of the summer forest at night.

Of course, Basira wasn’t the type of woman to just stand there and let herself be kissed against a wall. She shoved Daisy backward, onto the bed. The ancient bed frame popped and groaned with the impact. She followed her down like a bird of prey. Basira planted her hands on either side of Daisy’s head and slotted a thigh between her legs. She could feel the strain of lean muscle through three layers of fabric, the blunt pressure maddening. Basira’s hands slid just under her collar, cool and curious, but she didn’t try to unbutton her shirt. Daisy hated the inherent vulnerability of nakedness. It went against every instinct she had, every instinct that had kept her alive this long. She didn’t have to say that out loud for Basira to know it. Information, intuition had always passed between them fluidly.

Daisy only had enough patience to get Basira’s shirt halfway undone without ripping any buttons off; she hoped she appreciated the immense amount of restraint it took. She shoved her hand into her bra and teased her nipple in tight circles with her trigger finger. She was rewarded with another of those deep sighs, right against her lips this time. Daisy kissed her, catching the tail end of the sound in her mouth. She kissed her as deeply as she could, but it wasn’t deep enough.

She flipped Basira onto her back and slid off the bed, dropping to her knees on the hard wooden floor. She grabbed the other woman’s hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed, yanking her pants and underwear off with little ceremony. She slung one of Basira’s shapely bare legs over her shoulder and buried her face in the heat and scent of her cunt. Daisy’s approach was open-mouthed and heavy, the flat of her tongue passing in rough stripes over swollen flesh. Everything she did was a frenzy, driven by blood, and right then, it was pounding between her legs.

Basira threaded her fingers into Daisy’s hair and used the leverage to roll her hips against her mouth, grinding her clit against her tongue. She looked at her through her eyelashes, her tongue sliding slowly over her bottom lip. She could see her sleek abdominal muscles working languidly as she moved. She looked _royal._ Daisy was more than happy to bend the knee, to ride into any battle bearing her banner.

Daisy watched the tension build in every line and curve of the other woman’s body until she inhaled sharply. Her back bowed, her fingers tightening in Daisy’s hair as she shuddered against her mouth. She licked her through her orgasm. When she finally stilled, Daisy pulled back and pressed her cheek against the warm skin of the leg that was still hooked over her shoulder, breathing just as heavily as Basira. 

“We’ll be alright,” she said again, more softly this time, meeting Basira’s dark eyes. There came a knock at the door; Daisy was suddenly reminded of Bouchard and his all-seeing eye. The thought of the smarmy bastard watching the two of them made her want to choke the life out of him with her bare hands all over again. But he was more insidious than that. He had bigger things to keep an eye on, sharper hooks at the ready to sink into his victims. He didn’t deal in petty office gossip about who was fucking who.

“You two ready?” Jon asked through the door. Basira propped herself up on her elbows, opening her mouth to reply, but Daisy cut her off.

“Just a minute,” she called, never breaking eye contact. She sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I want to hear you say it.” She didn’t have the power to make people say things they didn’t want to say like Jon and Elias, but she didn’t need it. Daisy had her own gravitas.

“We’ll be alright,” Basira repeated after a moment. Her face was unreadable, even to Daisy.

Daisy nodded. “Then let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter @prettyalouettey and tell me about the worst porcelain doll you've ever seen. I have...some contenders.


End file.
